


Welcome to the New Age

by GreenFoliage



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 08:57:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10987617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenFoliage/pseuds/GreenFoliage
Summary: This fic is set in season 1. It began as cannon and my best guess as to what would happen through an episode hiatus. It sort of diverged from there.Death was a fireworks display that covered the night sky in brilliant red and orange. Death was the welcome greeting from an old enemy. It didn't discriminate, ushering everyone to its door.





	1. Chapter 1

The dread was burning her from the inside out, an effective paralytic as she looked towards the ominous glow of red in the distance. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe. Her throat had closed in on itself, and despite the desperate, sporadic gasps of air she was taking in, her lungs weren't filling. She couldn't breathe. Her vision began to blur around the edges until a pinpoint of light was all she could see. Suddenly, she was weightless, floating above herself like a voyeuristic spectre. She welcomed the new sensation. It stopped her from feeling.

And then he slapped her.

"Snap out of it!" he demanded. His voice, ever domineering and authoritative had an added element of desperation to it which Clarke, now gently cradling her stinging cheek found oddly reassuring. It helped put things back into perspective-that helpless note in his barking order, because it triggered the unapologetic, ultra rational synapses in her brain that came out whenever there was trouble. Taking a tired but resolved breath in, and nibbling on her lower lip, a habit she could never seem to shake, she brushed herself off and stood up from the ground.

He looked at her, his brows furrowed in contemplative uncertainty, torn on how best to proceed. To comfort? The back of his mind alarmed at the prospect of that method being his first instinct. To berate if needed, if only to get her to refocus? But she stood herself up, with clear, lucid eyes and her gaze steady as she looked at him.

Clearing her throat, she muttered a hasty, "I'm fine. I just-" She blinked. "I'm fine," she said again, straightening out her back and looking more determined, as though daring him to contradict her.

Brave Princess.

An unexpected urge to pull her close and run his fingers through her golden hair fell upon him, like he had done for some many years, allaying his sister's fears of discovery, soothing the frustrations of the unfairness of life away. But he didn't. Because it was Clarke, not Octavia standing in front of him, admirably strong and stubbornly self-contained.

"We don't know even know what that was," he offered instead.

"No we don't," she agreed.

"It could have been a meteor for all we know," he continued.

"Right," she agreed again.

"It could have been a supply ship with no passengers."

"Right."

Her monosyllabic answers were beginning to unnerve him. There was something not quite right about her responses-too detached to be sincere. "Clarke-" he began.

"You're right Bellamy," she interrupted him quickly, "We don't know what it was. And even if it-" she took a strengthening breath, "And even if it was a drop ship, we aren't in any position to do anything about it now."

"So-"

"So we need to stay on course. We need to have a contingency plan. If the ark isn't able to help us, we'll need to come up with ways to keep our people alive on our own."

He nodded curtly in agreement. His mind quickly cleared, and in a rush, began to fill with solutions and strategies. "We'll need to assign tasks, create divisions, leverage our resources, separate the strong from the weak..."

Clarke could almost hear Bellamy thinking, like the hum of gears turning, creating order, generating energy. It was almost a pity to interrupt the process, but Clarke felt the need to make herself clear. "I meant that we should build a self-sustaining community, not just to create a militia." She felt rather than saw the disapproval in his eyes, so she continued on, "Look, I'm not gonna argue with you about needing to train people to protect themselves. I just think we all need a way to trust each other first-to know that we can rely on each other."

"You don't think we trust each other?"

Clarke found herself taken aback by the question, knowing there was more to it than a simple yes, I do, or no, I don't. There was that twinge of urgency in his tone again which both confused and empowered her. And the pressure began to build, stemmed from the anxiety of answering the question right for him-to reassure him, and, in some twisted way, please him too. She bit her lip.

"I..." she began.

"Bellamy! Clarke!" a voice shouted from inside the camp. "Get over here, now!"

Casting him a furtive glance of concern, she nodded as he touched her shoulder gently, leading her inside the compound.


	2. Chapter 2

Her body half out of the makeshift tent set up for communications, Raven stared in horrified awe at the red light that had yet to be extinguished, framing the horizon. "Oh my god! Was that..." Raven trailed off, uncharacteristically subdued by the angry, warning glint in Bellamy's eyes.

"We don't know what it was," Clarke replied, eerily calm, "We suspect it might have been the Exodus Ship, but right now there's no way to confirm one way or another-unless," Clarke forcefully willed herself to dampen her hope, "Unless you've heard from the Ark?" She looked expectantly at Monty who had exited the tent behind Raven. She found herself quickly shifting her gaze, blinking away recalcitrant tears. Her heart constricted painfully as he shook his head to the negative. "That's...that's..." she found herself unable to form a coherent sentence and felt a deep shame in her lack of control. She took in a shuddering breath, but was saved from having to make the effort of regaining her composure faster than she could manage.

"Who was calling us?" Bellamy demanded, forcing the two to break their focus away from Clarke.

"How the hell should I know?" shrugged Raven with a forced nonchalance. The tone in her voice confirmed Bellamy's suspicions.

"Spacewalker," he stated rather than asked, irritated.

Raven pursed her lips together tightly, her frustrated emotions almost palpable-frustration at Finn, at Clarke and Bellamy, at-everything. Her whole world had been altered and she found herself frighteningly lost in the cast of character and the plot of the play. "He's supposed to be resting," she muttered.

"Clearly he's not," Bellamy retorted. "So where is he?" he asked, his voice disdainful.

"He's in the drop ship with Jasper," Monty replied, helpful as ever in his own, quiet way.

"Fine," Bellamy stated. "Clarke?"

"Yeah?" she replied, having managed to sufficiently contain herself once more.

"Ready to go?"

But she knew what he was really asking. Ready to face the next dilemma? Ready to make more impossible decisions? Ready to lead?

"Yeah," she nodded. "Let's go."

And if Raven or Monty had noticed Bellamy's hand grab Clarke's elbow ever so briefly as a sign of support and solidarity, neither of them made mention of it.

"It's Murphy," Finn disclosed softly.

"What?" Clarke gasped, her voice a mix of emotions-fear, pity, concern, dread...

"What the hell is he doing here?" Bellamy demanded.

"Look, he's not looking too good," Finn continued. "Miller found him up against the wall bloody, barely breathing."

"Miller should have left him there," Bellamy barked, "I gave strict orders that..."

"Don't you think we need all the help we can get? Considering the fact that you've just started a war we might be better off having another mindless, ruthless brawler on our side," Finn remarked sarcastically, putting no doubt in anyone's mind as to who he thought the other mindless, ruthless brawler in the camp was.

Bellamy straightened himself to full height, ready to defend himself to the idiotically naive Spacewalker who needed to remember his place. In response, Finn squared his shoulders, ignoring the ache to his left side, equally doggedly determined to make a point.

Shaking her head and letting out a frustrated sigh, Clarke stepped between the two boys. "Stop it okay? This isn't helping." She licked her lips, almost hesitant, "Bellamy, Finn's right. We need to stick together. We need to help each other. Just-just talk to Murphy. There must be a reason why he's come back. You need to find out why before you let your temper get the best of you." She cast him a soft look of encouragement. Try, her eyes urged. Please try.

"Fine," he replied gruffly, casting one last threatening glance towards Finn.

It wasn't until he walked into the ship that she realized she had placed her hand on his chest, right up against his heart.

But Finn had.

"What are you doing Clarke?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, his tone immediately putting her on the defensive.

"With him," Finn clarified, "What are you doing with him? You know he's volatile. And he's changing you. God, Clarke, you take one trip with the guy and suddenly you're trusting him with your life, with our lives."

"You don't know what you're talking about," she retorted.

"I do," he replied passionately, "Do you think he means it when he talks about compromise or shared leadership. This is the guy who's motto is 'Whatever the hell we want' That means whatever the hell he wants Clarke. He's leading us towards whatever the hell he wants."

"Do you think you could do better? Be a better leader? Then do better Finn. You can't just walk into this whole situation blindly. We've lost too many people already. We need to be strategic. We can't just naively think everything's gonna be okay, because it might not be, and we need to prepare for that."

"Clarke..."

"My mom may have died tonight," she half gasped at herself for revealing so much to him, but the flood gates had opened. "Oh god," her voice quavered, having finally said it aloud, "Oh god, she might be dead," she panted softly. She shrugged away the hand Finn had attempted to place on her shoulder in comfort. "But I can't think about that now, because there are other more pressing things to think about-things that I can do something about. And that's why I have faith in Bellamy," she concluded, "Why I trust him. Because he knows how to prioritize. Because he knows that who we are and who we are to survive can be two different things and he's not afraid to put one before the other."

"Then there's no convincing you otherwise," Finn sighed in defeat.

"No." Clarke shook her head, "Not anymore."


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke and Finn entered the drop ship.

In sympathy she looked at the contorted, weakened figure of John Murphy-her former tormentor, the boy who'd nearly died from a crime she'd accused him of-a crime he didn't commit. Steeling herself to his pain, she reminded herself that he'd done worse. As far as she was concerned, he had innocent blood on his hands. The death of a child. That was on him.

And so her emotions, already heightened by the day's events were even more twisted and confused-because at the end of the day, she rationalized, Murphy was trying to survive, just like the rest of them.

"Claims he was with the grounders. We caught him trying to sneak back into camp," Miller explained gruffly. Clarke nodded to him in thanks for the brief explanation. After the incident with The Grounder-Lincoln, she and Miller had come to begrudgingly respect each other.

"I wasn't sneaking," Murphy retorted weakly, ever quick to jump to his own defence, "I was running away from the grounders."

She contemplated that piece of information. Based on his the injuries inflicted on him, there was no way he could have escaped through the woods and made it back to camp. With a growing suspicion, she realized she needed to know more, "But how did you..." Clarke began.

Murphy's eyes glinted in anger. It appeared he wasn't ready to let bygones be bygones with regards to the person he considered the sole reason for his banishment and consequent hardships. "I'm not speaking to her," Murphy replied stubbornly.

Clarke was taken aback, and felt guilt...the sort that started in her gut, slowly eating at her. Lost for words she stammered, "I...I didn't...I..."

"Fine," Bellamy cut in, "What did you tell them about us?" he demanded. His mind began to calculate the bits of information Murphy would have known that would put his group at a disadvantage. That there were only a hundred of them, that they were young, mostly unskilled in the arts of war, criminals forced to come together...only half unified, at least 20 able kids willing to take his place of leadership in the case of a mutiny, or, in the case of his death.

"Everything," Murphy murmured, his voice husky from defeat.

"Well in that case," Bellamy lifted his rifle, his intent to shoot without regret.

There was a sudden push against his gun, throwing off his aim. "Hey, what the hell's wrong with you?" Finn cried. "If he was with the grounders then he knows things that can help us," Finn continued to insist.

Naive Spacewalker. John Murphy, a skilled con artist, jailed for thievery and assault, would never give up information without a price. He wasn't willing to pay him the rusted metal he was standing on, and a part of him feared the bounty the grounders had paid him to give up the information he had on them. That emotion spurred him on.

"Help us?" Bellamy thundered, "We hanged him, we banished him and now we're gonna kill him," his eyes looked deadly as he glared at Finn. "Get the hell out of my way."

Clarke looked at Bellamy in trepidation. She was going to have to chose a side...which side? Which side was right? Because Finn was wrong about Bellamy influencing her...because her moral core was always going to be conflicted. She'd never expected that to change. It was the practicalities of survival versus the emotion she was always too quick to feel. She understood that now. Which side?

And after some thought it became clear that there was only one right side. They were discussing a life. The life of a brutal, hardened criminal...but it was a life, no matter who's and it couldn't be their choice to decide who lived or died. Not in this way.

"Bellamy," she said in a soft, even tone, "Stop this. Please."

His eyes met hers and fractionally softened. In that moment of connection, she felt some semblance of hope.

Then Bellamy shot Murphy in the head.

...

Clarke let out a gasp of bone shaking horror and repugnance at what she'd just witnessed. She doubled in against herself ready to puke.

"Get her out of here," Bellamy ordered authoritatively, spurring Miller into action.

She shrugged Miller off. He looked to Bellamy for further direction, but stepped away from Clarke as Bellamy held his hand out to let her be.

"Why?" Clarke choked out, looking at Bellamy desperately for an explanation-because he had to have known that in that one act of unprovoked brutality, her faith in him would be crushed. There had to be a reason. There had to be a justification for his actions, more pithy than the ones he's said aloud. "How could you..."

Bellamy shook his head, "Clarke," he locked eyes with her, pleading for some understanding. For that brief moment he almost forgot that apologies and forgiveness were moot points in the savage world they found themselves in. He cleared his throat gruffly and emotion faded away. The light in his eyes was extinguished, "I couldn't take the chance."

"You bastard!" Finn spat, before his fist made contact with Bellamy's face. The impact forced Bellamy half to the ground, at level with the face of the boy he'd just killed.

"Murderer," Finn accused, "You sick, twisted murderer."

Bellamy clenched his jaw, "Whatever we need to do to survive Spacewalker."

"You killed a boy who was already near death, and you're saying you did it to survive? That's bull and you know it."

But it wasn't bull. Because there were so many ways...so many ways that keeping Murphy alive would have threatened his camp. He had to steel his heart and his head. He had to believe he was right, that his actions were right. He had to believe that, or face another breakdown that he couldn't afford to have. Not while Clarke was looking at him with accusation in her eyes.

"Finn," Clarke whispered.

It inexplicably pained Bellamy to hear the softness in her voice as she called to him.

Finn immediately glanced her way.

"Look, we..." she gulped and wet her lips nervously, "It's done," she blinked, then nodded her head as if to confirm her next actions to herself, "It's done. There's nothing else we can do here. Let's go."

"You can't just expect me to let him..." Finn was not finished with Bellamy Blake yet. Not by a long shot.

"We need to rally the rest of the camp," she said calmly, "I'm sure they have a lot of questions...the meeting with the grounders, the explosion they just saw, the..." her voice faltered, "The meaning behind the gunshot they just heard. I'm sure the group is scared and confused and we owe it to them to explain what happened."

Finn considered this and nodded, walking out of the ship without sparing Bellamy another glance.

"Go with them," Bellamy ordered Miller, who gave a curt nod in response and followed Finn out.

Clarke was two steps behind him.

Look at me, Bellamy willed. Look at me, he quietly begged. Remind me that I'm not a monster.

She turned around, head tilted in contemplation as she gazed at him.

"I warned him Clarke," Bellamy began to sputter in a rushed explanation he felt free to give now that the judgmental Spacewalker had left them alone, "I warned him what would happen if he came back. If the rest of the camp doesn't understand that I follow through with my threats then we would be back to square one. A part of you has to realize this."

Clarke pursed her lips together. "You did warn him," she allowed.

"Clarke..." he took a hopeful breath.

"You know, its our humanity that makes us human Bellamy," Clarke said evenly, "I hope you don't forget that...because if you do, then we're all doomed anyway."


	4. Chapter 4

"Get Clarke!"

Bellamy was livid. The meeting was Clarke's idea after all...hers and the Spacewalker's. He didn't know anything about running meetings or creating committees or forming communities. He knew he had an armed force to train and defences that needed to be built. He knew now more than ever, after the speech Clarke and Finn had given to rally the troops, that they needed someone with the backbone to carry it out. And damn it, he knew it had to be him. Not by choice. Not anymore. But by necessity,

There was no one else. Truly, no one else who deserved it...deserved to have their souls ripped out their chests bit by bit from the choices they had to made. After what had happened earlier, he wasn't sure he had much of one left anyway.

Bellamy wasn't an idiot. He knew the result of his display of power had led to his people being afraid of him.

Well good. So be it then. Now his people had proof. They knew he didn't back down on his word. They knew he was capable of making hard decisions to protect them...that he was a soldier, an enforcer...and maybe, just maybe, the mindless, ruthless brawler that Finn had accused him of being.

The crowd around him was beginning to grumble out of impatience, boredom, hell, out of fear. He knew how they felt.

Bellamy glared at the two boys again, one goggly and one quiet, both of which had strangely, and in their own ways endeared themselves to him...not that he was prepared to admit that. And if they cowered a little more than usual when he spoke to them...like he might snap and turn on them...like he was the enemy, he decided to ignore it. He had to.

"Why aren't either of you moving?" he asked sharply.

"We...we would, but..."

"But?"

"Um...she sorta asked,"

"Ordered," Monty clarified.

"Ordered," Jasper agreed, "Ordered us to give her some time alone."

"Alone?" Bellamy clarified. He could accept that. With a camp of more than ninety, getting some alone time was rare and far between. After what had just transpired, he understood her reasons why. But she was a leader, and that meant that she took her responsibilities seriously. This meeting was her responsibility, and that, Bellamy concluded, meant that she was up to something. He shook his head with vague annoyance. "Fine. She's had her time. Now go get her and tell her to come here."

"Uh, we could try, but we wouldn't know where find her."

"That's impossible. She has to be somewhere in the camp. It's not that big."

From the nervous ticks coming from Jasper...more than usual, Bellamy inwardly groaned.

"What did she want alone time for?" Bellamy demanded.

"She uh...said something about paying her respects to the dead," Monty clarified.

"Damn it," Bellamy swore. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed his rifle and began to walk away from the crowd, not before muttering, "Get the groups organized...based on skill set. Our focus is surviving the winter. Figure out what we need, and come up with with ways to get it. I want at least five plausible suggestions by the time I get back."

Bellamy sauntered off. Monty and Jasper gave each other a look. Shrugging, Jasper stepped forward and began to speak to the crowd.

...

"What the hell are you doing?" he blurted.

"I'm almost done," Clarke replied, not bothering to look up from her task. She had painstakingly cleaned away most of the blood, and used his bangs to cover the bullet hole so that Murphy almost looked like he was in a peaceful repose.

"You're needed outside," Bellamy grumbled.

"I figured you could handle it on your own for a few minutes." she murmured. "There," she sighed, sounding tired and defeated, finally looking up at him. The rims of her eyes were smudged with dark circles, her face was too pale, and her lips were drawn in a thin, contemplative expression. "What are we going to do with him?" she asked wearily.

"Burn him? Bury him? I don't know," his voice was weary.

Clarke nodded and exhaled, "Ok," she replied.

"I need you by the fire," Bellamy said simply. Less and order, more a fact. "We need to get organized," he turned to leave the drop ship.

"Bellamy, wait. When I was...cleaning the body, I found something in Murphy's hand," Clarke said, stalling his exit.

"What was it?"

"A vial of something. I don't know."

"Did you open it?" Bellamy asked, a sudden, urgent sense of dread rising to his chest.

"No. Of course not. It could be anything."

"Good," he replied.

"What do you think it could be?"

"Knowing Murphy," Bellamy replied gruffly, "some kind of weapon."

Before Clarke could respond, five boys sauntered into the drop ship.

"We're here for the guns," one said with a cocky lilt.

"Excuse me?" Clarke's eyes narrowed.

"We're on security detail," another clarified.

"Jasper said we could grab the guns here."

"Jasper said?" Clarke arched a brow and directed her look of disapproval at Bellamy. "I leave you alone for ten minutes, and you put Jasper in charge?" she huffed. "I'll get things sorted out. You," she pointed her finger at the boys that had entered chests out like peacocks with fluffed feathers, "Touch nothing," she ordered.

"The princess doesn't like anyone to touch her things," one of the boys...Connor sneered, but not before sneaking a glance to make sure that she was beyond earshot.

"Hey," Bellamy said sternly, "Don't call her that."

"She's still acting like she's royalty, Bellamy," Mark complained, "All she does is nag when we need to get things done."

"And she still has all this fancy stuff,"

"The fancy stuff that keeps us alive you mean?" Bellamy shot back, hardly amused by the antics of the team Jasper and Monty had helped select.

"I mean, look at this stuff," Conner began sliding his finger over the supplies. Cloth, herbs, glass. He held a small glass container in his hand.

"She'll be pissed once she realizes you've touched her things," Bellamy warned.

"Yeah she will," Connor smirked, dropping the glass vial to the ground and looking self-satisfied as it landed on the metal ground of the ship, broken into fragments. The liquid in the vial spilled out and began to sizzle on the floor. Quickly, the sizzle formed into a thick grey fog, and the boys began to cough as it rose.

"Get out of the ship now!" Bellamy ordered, counting off as one by one he saw the five figures leave the ship. Connor, Mark, Glen, Ace and Dixon. All Idiots.

"What the hell was that?" Clarke demanded as she and the group of girls behind her stopped short of the drop ship watching Bellamy emerge, the haze of smoke beginning to fade behind him.

Bellamy let out a deep cough to clear his lungs as he approached Clarke and her group. "Remind me never to let Jasper and Monty in charge ever again," he grumbled, walking past them and heading straight for his tent.


	5. Chapter 5

Bellamy swatted Clarke's hand away. "Stop fussing," he grumbled, "I'm fine."

"You breathed in a lot of smoke, and you're still coughing," Clarke pointed out.

"I'm fine," he repeated stubbornly. He gave her a quick glance. "You should get some rest," he concluded.

"I'm fine," Clarke responded automatically. Realizing how he had trapped her, she gave him a smirk and was pleasantly surprised to see him grinning back.

"We don't know what was in the vial. I just wanna be cautious."

"Connor," Bellamy bit out like a curse, "The idiot."

"Yes he is," Clarke agreed, "but apparently despite his idiocy, there seems to be no harm done."

"So you're clearing me then, doctor."

"I'm not a doctor," she said quickly with a frown, "But yes, I think you and the rest of your thugs are good to go,"

"They're not my thugs," he shot back.

"Your soldiers then," she returned, "The mighty defenders of the wall."

"Not Mark, and definitely not Connor," Bellamy replied firmly. "Good soldiers do what they're told."

Clarke was glad to hear it. Her faith in Bellamy had slipped with Murphy and she realized, tiredly that perhaps that was the be the nature of their relationship afterall. The ebb and the flow of trust, believing and then second guessing, hope and disappointment. She remembered his question, asked, surprisingly only a few hours ago..."You don't think we trust each other?"

But maybe trust could never be as all encompassing as she thought. Her mother was a prime example.

"We'll need some good soldiers when we set out to examine the crash," she said softly, almost as though she was speaking to herself...an after thought to something greater she had been contemplating in her mind. "There would be..." she took a fortifying breath, "There would be no survivors, but it would be worthwhile to send a group out to try to see if there's anything to salvage." She looked up to face him. He couldn't quite read her expression. There was a mix of grief, determination, acceptance.

"It's a risk," Bellamy pointed out, "We're at war with the grounders now. They could be thinking the same thing."

She nodded.

"We'll need the manpower here, in case the grounders set up an attack. We need people to be on the defensive. It'll have to be a small scouting party." The last part surprised him. What he'd meant to say was that it would have to wait. That it wasn't a priority. And she would have agreed with him. She's said as much when she saw the crash landing. But there was something about that expression that made him banish any possibility of making her chose between the rational and the raw. Of course she would want to explore the wreckage...because as much as she denied it, he knew there was still a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe by seeing the site, all things would be explained. Maybe it was all fine. And just maybe, her mother was still alive.

"Small party," she repeated, nodding again.

"We'll need to leave early...at dawn, so we can be back by nightfall." Unable to stop himself, he tucked an errant strand of hair from her face behind her ear.

"I'll get a team ready. You get some rest." He jumped off the table quickly, hoping that she'd been too caught up in her thoughts to notice the intimacy of the gesture. He picked up his jacket from the makeshift bench to the side.

She gently touched his shoulder. It felt warm against the thin fabric of his shirt. He felt startled into freezing still at the light pressure. "Thank you," she whispered. Before he could turn around to reply she had already began to climb the ladder into her sleeping quarters in the middle deck of the ship.

...

Watching the blonde girl walk through the wreckage with her face carefully void of expression, Finn felt a tightening irritation. "Bellamy shouldn't have let her come," he muttered.

Raven laughed, "You think Bellamy has any control over what Clarke does and doesn't do?" She took a closer look at the girl, begrudgingly respecting her more and more. "Besides, her mother was on the ship and she wants to find some answers. Wouldn't you?"

Finn's eyes were once again locked on the girl, and Raven barely contained a growl of frustration. It was difficult...watching the person you loved, watching the person they loved. At a loss once again at the complexity of it all, she shrugged her shoulders and continued her rummaging.

"What are you looking for?" Bellamy's deep voice came from behind her.

"A black box, burnt electronics...anything that'll help me figure out what went wrong."

"Any luck?"

"No." She held out her hands, "Empty."

"Damn," Bellamy cursed.

Limbs, charred remains, pieces of misshapen metal and sparking wire was all that was left of the Exodus ship. So much for the ark coming to their rescue, he thought bitterly.

A movement caught his eye as he saw Clarke bend down and grab something, wiping it off on her shirt, she held it to the light. Bellamy saw it glint in the sun. He began to walk towards her.

"Find something?" Finn yelled, making Bellamy roll his eyes in irritation. Spacewalker sprinted towards Clarke.

Raven grimaced. "It's hard to pretend not to notice," she remarked, watching as Finn made his way toward Clarke.

"Notice what?" Bellamy asked, feigning ignorance.

"The pull they have between each other," she said with a note of defeat. "The golden girl gets the hero," she continued bitterly.

"Does she?" Bellamy challenged, "get the hero?"

"Hell no," Raven replied, a spunk back in her voice, "Not if the hero's girlfriend can help it." She gave him a rueful smile and continued her rifling through the rubble.

...

"It's nothing Finn," Clarke replied quickly. "Just something that caught my eye, that's all."

"You just pocketed the thing that caught your eye," Finn observed. "That's not like you."

"How would you know?" she asked quietly. "We barely know each other."

Before Finn could respond, she heard a muffled cry. She turned quickly towards Finn. He nodded his assent, and then both dashed toward the sound.

...

"What now?" Bellamy demanded.

"Oh my god!" Raven gasped. "His eyes are..."

Hemorrhaging. From his eyes, his nostrils, his ears. He began making gagging noises as he tumbled to the ground, shaking violently and spewing out blood from the mouth.

"What happened?" Clarke asked, "Did anyone see what happened?" Deftly she turned Glen to his side as he began to convulse.

"One second he was fine, and the next..." Dixon trailed off, looking at Glen in horror.

"Ok," Clarke said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "It's okay. I'll take care of you." She looked around and her eyes found the closest face. "Finn, get my pack," Clarke ordered. The boy rushed to look for her satchel.

Glen's shaking stopped. His face was covered in blood as he gasped for air. And then the gasping stopped.

"No," Clarke cried softly.

Putting two fingers at his jugular, Clarke searched for a pulse. Sighing in defeat she put her fingers to her side. She couldn't find one.

"He's dead," she announced. "But how..."

A movement caught her eye.

"Dixon?" Bellamy shouted, steadying the boy who began to bleed from the nose.

"No," he cried, "No, no no!" he said, as he too began to convulse uncontrollably, falling to the ground despite Bellamy's support.

"What the hell?" Bellamy cursed, unsure of what to do to help the boy writhing in his arms.

"Just...just hold on," Clarke commanded, looking back at Glen for any clues as to what had happened.

"Clarke, step away!" Raven ordered sharply. The blood on Glen's pale face began to sizzle, and a thick fog began to envelop the body.

Gasping, Clarke took a step back.

"Clarke," Finn cried.

"Run back!" She ordered, "Get as far away as you can! Don't breathe in the smoke!" Spotting Raven and Finn a few yards away beyond the reach of the smoke and behind a thick clump of metal, she sprinted towards them.

Out of breath, she scanned the site she looking for Bellamy. At last, she spotted an outline of Bellamy who looked as though he was carrying Dixon's still form in his arms. She yelled for him to run toward them. "Bellamy, get your ass over here now!" she demanded, and at once, he was lost in the fog.

Clarke felt a strong hand grasp her arm.

"Don't even think about it," Finn warned, knowing her instinct would be to run towards the fog to save a life. Despite the desperation in her eyes, she quickly nodded her assent.

Bellamy was right after all. Murphy had brought a weapon to camp.


	6. Chapter 6

"Where is he?" Clarke muttered to herself anxiously, "Come on, come on!" she urged, pacing now as the cloud of smoke began to clear away.

"Clarke, look, just calm down," Finn sighed. If Bellamy was dead...and if he was honest with himself, he hadn't quite made up his mind whether or not it would be such a bad thing for the group if he was...that would mean that Clarke was the sole leader. And he...they needed her to stay calm and rational. He wanted to comfort her, and began reaching for her arm.

"Don't touch me!" she snapped, pulling away before he was close enough. She had a fierceness in her voice that surprised both her companions into reflexively stepping back.

"I'm sorry," she amended, her voice more modulated, but still emphatic, "I touched Glen, and we saw him die right in front of us. Dixon started exhibiting symptoms just before the smoke. The only thing I can think of that may connect the two cases is their exposure to the smoke from Murphy's vial," ...Bellamy was exposed too, she thought, he was there too, and now I can't find him and... "I don't know how it's spread," she said with a soft tremor in her voice, that she quickly masked. "I think it's airborne. It seems reasonable to assume so, but...I don't..." she trailed off until she concluded with the hard truth. "I could be infected."

"You think it's an infection?" Raven clarified, "That someone could catch it?"

"I don't know," Clarke looked down, clenching her hands in frustration, "I don't know..."

The sickening sizzle of blood on Glen's face became forefront in her mind's eye. His own blood was burning him from the inside out until it consumed his body as fuel for smoke and death. Another life she couldn't save. She paled at the thought, then abruptly pushed it away. There was no use in ruminating on matters that were out of her hands, "Until we can come up with some sort of conclusion I think you should both keep your distance."

"Clarke, that's ridiculous!" Clarke looked up to see Finn's eyes fixed in mild panic.

"No, it's not." Raven countered.

Clarke gave her a half smile, thanking her soundlessly for supporting her.

"You should both head back to camp to see what's happened with the other boys...Connor, Mark and Ace. You need to isolate them and anyone who's had contact with them...you need to go warn them. The smoke's almost cleared. I should be able to find Bellamy and Dixon soon and we'll head back as soon as we can."

"What if they're dead?" Raven asked bluntly.

"We're not," came a deep, gruff, but strong voice from a few metres away, "Dixon?"

There was a wet cough followed by a, "...not yet, anyway," from Dixon.

They stood in full view of Finn, Raven and Clarke, Bellamy looking none worse for the wear supporting Dixon who was leaning heavily against him, traces of smudged blood from his eyes and near his mouth.

"He's not well enough to travel," Clarke decided after taking a quick glance at him. "It won't be safe enough for us to take him through Grounder territory, and I'm not leaving him here," she added before anyone suggested otherwise.

"What are you proposing we do?" Bellamy asked.

"We'll wait here until he's well enough...until you and I are sure that we're not symptomatic,"

"Then what?" Finn pressed.

"Then we head back," Clarke replied.

"You can't stay out here in the open. You're too exposed," Finn countered.

"And there's explosive material all around," Raven added, "the fuels aren't stable. It's not safe to stay here."

For a moment, Raven wondered why she felt so strongly about leaving Clarke and Bellamy behind. She had Finn. Finn would be safe with her...and yet...she feared the prospect of returning back to a camp that would likely be overrun by chaos. She, like everyone else, it seemed, had fallen under the spell that was the leadership of Bellamy and Clarke...that under their guidance, as faulty as it was at times, their little band of humanity had a fair shot at making it. To potentially lose them both in one fell sweep was...it was something she refused to imagine until she absolutely had to.

The tense atmosphere was made even more urgent when Dixon let out a choking cough growing so weak, Bellamy found himself shuffling to stabilize them both.

"You can't stay here," Finn said again in desperation.

"We don't have a choice," Clarke said in a quiet, but harsh tone. Her expression was fierce, leaving no room for question. "We'll move to the outskirts of the crash site. There's more tall grass coverage there."

Finn shook his head, clearly unhappy with the turn of events but realizing he was powerless to stop them from unfolding, "Be careful," he said instead with deep feeling.

Unable to help herself, she gazed deeply into his eyes and nodded slowly. Her emotions were mixed, but that last look conveyed them more strongly than words could have done...This is the way it has to be...I'm sorry...

Raven produced a small pouch of nuts and berries. "Don't be too long," she muttered before dropping the pouch into Clarke's hands. She turned to collect her supplies and go.

"Wait!" Bellamy called.

Raven turned, her dark pony tailed hair swinging to her face at the speed.

"Tell Octavia that..." he was momentarily at a loss for words, unsure what to say. He swallowed and looked down at the ground, masking whatever expression was on his face. He couldn't promise her anything. Not now. "Tell Octavia I love her," he said gruffly. He turned away and began walking himself and Dixon in the opposite direction, towards the edge of the clearing where the shrubs and foliage grew.

Clarke stood alone, watching them go. Finn turned back five times before they completely disappeared from view.

...

"Can you describe to me what you're feeling? Exactly what you're feeling and where?"

"Like crap," Dixon grunted, "Everywhere."

Clarke held back the urge to growl in frustration. Though the tall grasses around the site gave them enough cover, it was getting dark. Who knew what happened in the area after dark. With her luck, they'd be eaten by wild animals at best and tortured by Grounders at worst. Neither sounded like a particularly pleasant way to go.

In hindsight, her "plan" had been more of a desperate attempt to ensure that Finn and Raven were safe, that they would try to somehow salvage the rest of the hundred back at the camp...because she was uncertain of the state she and Bellamy would be in if...when they got back.

...because Bellamy had started to exhibit some symptoms. He was hiding them. Clarke was pretending she didn't notice. He was pretending he didn't know she was pretending not to notice.

"I'm gonna die," Dixon declared shakily, "I'm going to die here."

"You might not," Clarke replied softy, acutely aware of the lack of assurance and comfort in her words.

Dixon gave her an uncharacteristically warm smile, "I will," he insisted, "But it'll be on the ground. I'll die on the ground. I can feel it against my hands, and it's solid...I like that. I can be okay with that."

"Dixon..." Clarke trailed off as Dixon let out a loud, gurgling cough. He had closed his eyes and she could see a trail of bloody tears fan out onto his cheeks. Leaning, she began to stroke the bangs away from his forehead. As she did this, she hummed softly.

Bellamy was taken back...how long had it been? Days? Weeks? He found himself unable to determine the length of time that had passed since he'd last heard that song...a lullaby about pretty little horses...an illusion, like everything else they had been taught about the earth.

He morbidly wondered if Clarke would give him the same courtesy when it was his time. His nose had started to bleed and he felt the slight tremors in his hands. He wondered how much time he had left...how much they all had. How much she had...

And if things had been different...if they had stayed the same...he would be on the Ark, stuck on latrine duty, while Clarke would have been locked away waiting for her death sentence. All in all, not much different from where they stood now...except here on earth princesses and slaves could die together.

"Clarke," he murmured.

"Hmm?" she answered.

"Is he?"

"Yes,"

"Then we need to get moving. It's getting dark. It'll be harder to tell how far the smoke reaches and whether we've cleared it or not."

Clarke didn't look up. Her face remained focused on Dixon's frozen, peaceful expression. She kept humming.

"Clarke," Bellamy started again, with more force in his tone, "Did you hear me? We need to get moving."

She let out a shaky, determined breath. "I heard you," she replied, "Whether we move or stay, you and I both know it hardly matters now."

"You need to move," Bellamy insisted. "Get up," he ordered, jolting upward himself, his aim to pull her up and push her away from Dixon's body ready to self destruct, away from the infection...away from him. He grabbed her arm, forcefully hauling her up.

"Bellamy, wait!" she protested as he began shoving her away from Dixon's body. She tried to push back.

"Clarke, so help me god, I will pick you up and hurl you away from here if that's what it takes to get your stubborn ass moving."

"Just...just wait," she continued to struggle against him until he was all but hugging her against his body to move her arms down and out of the way. Bellamy suddenly realized their close proximity but kept his hands firmly grasped against her upper arms.

"What?" he demanded.

She stopped her movements and looked up, staring straight into his dark brown eyes as though trying to read his thought lurking behind them...and then he saw it...the red tears forming out of the corner of her eyes.

"No," he said as though winded by the sight. "It's not possible. No..."

"Let's stay here and rest for a while," Clarke murmured softly, "It looks like a clear night. If we look up, we can see the stars."

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FanFiction.net in March of 2014  
> Disclaimer: The title of the story is from Imagine Dragon's Radioactive, and obviously, I'm not affiliated with The 100 other than being a weekly avid viewer and encouraging all my friends to tune in as well ;)


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